Bringing up 'Betty'

By Jeffrey M. Anderson Of The Examiner Staff
Publication date: 01/30/2002

Starring: Cheryl Pollak, Stephen Gregory, Ron Perlman, Holland Taylor, Udo Kier;

Written and directed by Richard Murphy.

With the enormous, universal success of lowbrow comedies like "There's Something About Mary" and "American Pie," the weirdo, highbrow comedy has become a rare bird indeed. The strange thing is that lowbrow comedies tend to have a very short shelf-life, whereas people still watch -- and still laugh at -- intelligent and odd movies like "Raising Arizona" and "A Christmas Story."

The 1997 film "Betty," which receives its first official U.S. release today at the 4 Star Theater, is one of those. It's a real discovery -- one that I predict will corral a small but passionate legion of fans.

Like David Lynch's "Wild at Heart" (1990), "Betty" takes "The Wizard of Oz" out for a spin, with a little "America's Sweethearts" thrown in. A top box-office star named Betty Monday (Cheryl Pollak, from "Pump Up the Volume" and TV's "Melrose Place") freaks out and begins to worry that she doesn't work hard enough to deserve the level of comfort at which she lives. So she packs up her convertible and drives off to rent a house in Palm Springs until she can get her head together.

After the renter (played by the great cult actor Udo Kier, from "Dancer in the Dark" and "Shadow of the Vampire") shows her the house, she wanders around for a while, shrieking every time one of the two phones (one white, one off-white for some reason) ring. She dazedly scoops a leaf out of the swimming pool and suddenly finds her calling. She dumps a few dozen boxes of generic Froot Loops into the pool and scoops them all out -- feeling truly alive in the process.

Assuming the alias "Sheila," she cajoles a pool man (Stephen Gregory) into letting her tag along with him, learning the ins and outs of pool maintenance. After a long day, her brain is still buzzing when a muscle-cream salesman (Ron Perlman) knocks on her door. Before long, she's joined a pyramid scheme and tries to sell muscle cream to everyone who comes near. Likewise, a grocery delivery boy takes her on, teaching her about groceries, as well as golf.

Unfortunately, her hard-as-nails manager and therapist Crystal Ball (Holland Taylor), with a mouth like a sailor, attempts to track her down and return her to the $70 million movie set from which she vanished.

It's not too long before we realize that the three men in her newfound life represent the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion in Dorothy's Oz, and they teach Betty all about what it's like to be a human being (without any romantic or sexual interest).

But never fear, "Betty" has few moments of goopy sentiment or Important Lessons Learned. Writer/director Richard Murphy invites us to laugh and celebrate, but he never preaches to us.

Murphy shoots much of the film in long, unbroken shots decorated with sunny, dry colors, and breaks it up with a few hilarious rapid-fire montages (such as those horrible phones ringing). Because he uses so few close-ups, we're forced to get to know the characters through their body language instead of their faces. Pollak in particular does a terrific job of assuming a Julia Roberts-like combo of goofiness and gracefulness. She's lovely in a movie-star kind of way while assuming a girl-next-door warmth.

Gregory also stands out as the pool man, fiercely dedicated to his job. A dead rabbit in a customer's pool rates as a red alert -- it causes the pair to march into battle, barking orders to each other in clipped tones.

"You were damn good in there," the pool man says afterward. Some viewers might find the clever, back-and-forth dialogue too unnatural and forced -- perhaps rather theatrical. But tied in with the unreal movie-ish atmosphere, it works quite well, in my eyes. Betty does find meaning in her life, and after a tearful goodbye with the requisite "I think I'll miss you most of all" to the pool guy, Betty does an about-face freak-out that will leave you laughing all the way out the door.

The San Francisco Examiner.

 

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